


Griffon Flock

by Whuffie



Series: The Harried Herald and her Merry Misfits [4]
Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Blackwall - Freeform, Dragon Age - Freeform, Dragon Age Inquisition, Gen, Grey Warden - Freeform, Inquisition, Post Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:03:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whuffie/pseuds/Whuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hero of Ferelden returns to Skyhold to retrieve Thom Rainier.  The Inquisitor arranged for Rainier to be given to the Wardens, but an unexpected problem arises.  Reginald Cousland ferrets out an interesting loophole, but Blackwall is less than impressed with the overly talkative, sly, moderately short man who "talked the Archdemon to death."</p><p>Features interactions with Leliana, Cullen and the Inquisitor.</p><p>Warnings: None.  This is a safe for work, general audiences story</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My overworked, underpaid (because she works for free) Beta didn't have time to look at this. I hope there aren't too many mistakes. If anything screams out, please leave a comment and I'll fix it.
> 
> This was written before Trespasser was released, so Blackwall's fate in this story isn't based on canon.

Leliana’s bard training warned of the most subtle displacement of air and the warmth of another body behind her.  It was strange that her birds hadn’t been disturbed, and the presence would have been missed by anyone else.  Her fingers leaped to the haft of her dagger a half a fraction too late.  Sharp, chilly metal rested against her throat and she had the impression of leather armor by smell and sound.  There was also a trace of Orlesian cologne which a true bard in The Game would have never been sloppy enough to wear.  She would have already been dead had that been the case, and monopolized on the hesitation to cut her throat immediately.

Killing the initial, primal reaction of panic, options flashed through her mind. Tough, dark armor and fingerless gloves gripped the short, deadly weapon which she could barely see beneath her chin.  Biting would do no good, but she threw her head back sharply, hoping to break the hold.  By the wet thump, she hadn’t broken a nose, but her assailant wasn’t wearing a helmet.  That was to her advantage, and her hands shot up with serpent speed.

Grabbing the arm in a double handed grip, she jabbed her hips backward into his gut.  It wouldn’t knock the wind from him as it would have had he not been protected with armor, but it would put him on the defensive.  Yanking down on the wrist with all her strength, she expected to twist his arm the wrong direction and force him to drop the knife.  His fingers were still vulnerable, and she’d exploit the advantage.  Evidently he was ready for it, disconcertingly agile, and not easily fooled.  He might have made an amateur mistake, but he knew what he was doing.  How did anyone get in without her knowing it?  The assassin had to have gone past innumerable guards and through Skyhold to find the out of the way upstairs where she spent most of her time.  

“Good to see you have not gotten too soft,” a familiar voice taunted merrily behind her ear, and his breath smelled pleasantly of spearmint.

Leliana’s guard fell, although she was less amused than he was.  Spinning gracefully around, she flipped a fur lined hood backward from a familiar, mocking, mischievous face framed in long auburn hair.  “Reginald Cousland.”  She shook her head, smirking with composed relief. “I might have known you would find a way to make a dramatic entrance. I would not have thought you would try anything so sloppy.”  His bloody bottom lip was swelling.  “You still won’t wear a helmet I see.”

“It leaves me too blind and I feel as if I am being stuffed into a wolf trap.  I have gotten along thus far without one, so I see no reason to change.”

“I would have had you in a moment you know.”

He removed some dried elfroot from his belt pouch, swallowed it, then gave her a quick, light peck on the cheek.  She rubbed a spot of blood from the well trimmed goatee, and his green eyes lit with amusement.  “You could have me any time my dear Leliana.”

“You say that as if I was unique from half the women in Thedas.”  She gave him a rare, outright laugh and a gentle, affectionate slap across the cheek.  She’d always found him charming, if utterly impossible.  “Cassandra was looking everywhere for you last year, and you stopped writing to me.  Had I not known how resourceful you were, I would have worried.”

He made himself comfortable by leaning against the edge of her desk and flipped the knife back into the sheath.  “The Inquisition hardly needed my presence. My time was done, Leliana, and we both know that.  The Archdemon is a memory.  Wardens are blending with the common folk here in the south until such time as we are needed.  That is as it should be.  When the darkspawn or catastrophe threatens we will be there, but Duncan was wise in saying we were not meant to be political.  It is best we do not make too grand a spectacle of ourselves.”

“You mean like choosing the king of Orzammar, putting Alistair on the throne and becoming Arl of Amaranthine?”  He was as easy to talk to as he had been the first time she met him in the tavern at Lothering, insisting she had a vision from the Maker, and needed to accompany him.  There were times that felt as if it had happened to someone else, and yet it was only a decade past.

Reginald chuckled and flipped both palms out to his sides in an exaggerated, eloquent bow.  “I am caught!  Perhaps had those things not been necessary to halting the Blight I would have been more concerned, but who can say?  I might have done it merely to stir things up a bit.  Nobility without something to occupy themselves are a danger indeed.

“I admit that holding Amaranthine is problematic.  I would prefer not to have another Sophia Dryden in a few generations.  I would be forced to haunt the pups of the Warden Order who come after me.  Yet that is a minor consideration in comparison to Weishaupt.  I know not what is brewing out there, but it can be nothing good.  Wardens are better to become understood, working, parts of the community rather than some secretive order who appear like wraiths when the Blight threatens.”

“I thought you were going to Weishaupt yourself?”

“Leliana.”  A mock pout pulled down on his lower lip as he stared at her with his best mabari impersonation, “when have you ever known me to be where I am supposed to?  I would not wish to break tradition.  How gauche.  Now,” he said briskly, reading her report upside down and disappointed to find it was as boring as anything on his own desk at home.  “As much as I do love to talk about myself and carry on telling you all about my exploits, how have things been here?”

“Very well.” She picked up the paper and tucked it under a blank page with a tolerant, silent reprimand.  “The Inquisition is stable and growing.  I believe it will continue to play an important part in the future.”

He nodded as he crooked a finger beneath his chin, “just so.  I heard what happened at Haven, the fade rift and a good many of the adventures of your Herald.  She is a rather attractive woman with a magical power granted by Andraste.  Not only that, she slew an ancient darkspawn who dreams of godhood, as I understand it.  Why is it forever darkspawn at the backs of these stories?” he wondered rhetorically.  “You do keep the most intriguing company, I certainly can say that of you.  As the tales go, she not only did all of that, but she is involved in the most fascinating affair with the dashing Commander Cullen.  Who, by chance, is that poor lad we rescued from the Tower some years back.  Clearly the Maker or fate marks certain people, because we always do seem to keep bumping into one another.  Of all the millions of people across Thedas, it is always us – or you.  Twice now you have helped halt darkspawn from destroying everything we hold dear, and this time with a templar who survived the Tower during the Blight.  Curious how life works.”  

The response wasn’t as reflexive as it would have been in the past, but she realized it hadn’t completely changed.  “I believe it is the Maker, although not so directly as I once did.”  What else could it be when, as Reginald had pointed out, so many coincidence converged?  “His hand has surely been on all our lives these past years.”

He pondered that notion and anything else which was shiny on her desk for a few seconds, but she was giving him a knowing look so he crossed his arms over his chest, tucking away itching fingers.  “It is good to hear that Cullen survived the ordeal.”  The only time Reginald had seen him, he’d been trapped in Uldred’s prison and ranting about mages.  That was not to say he blamed the lad for it, but he had clearly grown into his boots.  “More than survived by the sound of it.”

“I suppose I should not be surprised that their romance is nearly as popular as the defeat of Corypheus.”  Leliana sighed with an ironic resignation, and removed a scroll from a new messenger bird after it came in through the window.   “Everyone loves to hear about a good love affair.”

“Two people in command who saved the world?  It is inevitable tongues would wag.  At least they are doing so favorably.  With rebellions, new Divine, and all the upheavals, they need something good to gossip about which is close to home.”  Reginald leapt down lightly as a human messenger came upstairs and gave him a curious look.  He grinned brilliantly at her, wreathed in warm innocence as he wondered if she had anything interesting to pilfer.  Out of courtesy he’d refrained from his favorite hobby while prowling about Skyhold, but it did not keep him from wondering.

Leliana spoke briefly to the other woman, and took a sheaf of papers, rolling them up before a certain magpie Hero of Ferelden could take an interest in them. “Not that I’m ungrateful for your visit, but what has brought you all the way to Skyhold?”

“Ah, yes.  That is a good question.  I understand you have a Grey Warden who is not a Grey Warden but was intended to be one until everyone found out he was guilty of some sort of Orlesian war crime.  At which point the Grey Warden was not a Warden at all, but a man placed in an Orlesian jail.  Until which time he was not a criminal because your Inquisitor had him removed and decided he needed to be a Grey Warden.  I do not suppose you might clear some of that convoluted mess up, would you?  All I could make of it was there was someone who is meant to be turned over to us.”

He couldn’t draw a laugh from her that time, and she nodded somberly from under her hood.  “You’re here for Thom Rainier, although we knew him as Blackwall until a few months ago.”  She would have expected Reginald at Skyhold sooner if she’d have thought about it, but as he mentioned, when was Ferelden’s Hero ever where he was supposed to be?  “The Inquisitor judged that he would be given to the Wardens.”  She gave the truncated version of how the Inquisition went looking for the Grey Wardens in connection to the murder of the Divine, Rainier’s place among the Herald’s most trusted of companions, how he’d eventually taken responsibility for the man who was about to be hanged, and Josephine’s careful diplomacy which had given him to be judged by the Inquisitor.  “He says he didn’t kill Blackwall, but ‘traded his death so a good man wouldn’t be lost.’”

“What do you think of him?”  Reginald shooed a curious raven away from his ring, feeling a brief pang of understanding toward Shale.  

Leliana considered her words carefully before she answered.  “I think he cares for the Inquisitor and would do anything for her.  He admires the Grey Wardens for what you stand for, and will not speak anything against the Order.  When the Inquisitor found him, he volunteered to come with them because he wanted to help us.  During the battle was fought against Corypheus, and the Herald only had three people who were able to help her.  He was one.”

“So if he were a Warden with Alistair and I at the critical time, what do you think he might have done?”

“You’d be better asking him that for yourself, but I believe he would have followed you.  While he is not as quick to do it as Alistair and has his own opinions –”

Reginald flashed her a grin which could have come from a cat hiccuping canary feathers.  “You have not spoken to the king lately, have you?  He has come a long way, but do continue.”

She smiled fondly. “I suppose he must, now that he rules Ferelden.  Yet he still asks for your council, I believe.”

Leaning back in an exaggerated display of shock, Reginald allowed his mouth to hang ajar.  “You certainly do earn your Sypmaster mantle dear lady.”  He winked at her without taking any offense.  “It is true.  He is my brother in all but family name.  At any rate, we were discussing Blackwall.”

She had forgotten how much she missed the silliness he used to cover leadership and the devious mind which had gotten them through the Blight.  As much as they had both grown, he was wrong about one thing.  His presence would have been a great, familiar comfort a year ago.  “Thom Rainier hid everything for a long time, no?  Either he has greatly changed from the coward who was part of the Grand Game or he is a master liar.  I do not think it is the latter.”

Reginald made a thoughtful, noncommittal sound in his throat.  “I shall speak with him, then.”  There was only one problem he could foresee, but one thing at a time.  “If you would be so kind as to point me in the correct direction?  This is quite a large fortress.”

“Of course.”  She wondered how long he’d been skulking unnoticed around the grounds and if he was only playing with her.  Both had always been a specialty of his, and he’d benefited from training given by herself, Zevran, and obviously taken something from other sources while he was Arl of Amaranthine.  If he didn’t already know where Blackwall lived, he would have found out quickly enough.  She was almost tempted to test him, but they were both too busy for such childish games.  “He lives above barn where the horses are stabled.”

“One more thing.”  He paused as if he were royalty visiting a well known castle full of vassals, much to Leliana’s amusement.  “Is the Inquisitor here?  I should like to discuss this with her before I come to any drastic decisions.  It sounds as if Blackwall -- Rainier?  Whatever he calls himself --  has been a critical part of the Inquisition’s infancy.  The Grey Wardens are not so thin we have to go snatching people from places where they are already needed.”

“They are close,” she admitted quietly, “nearly as much as you and Alistair.  It’s something you should ask her, yourself, if you really want to know.”

With a canny nod, he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, earning one of her smiles.  “I have missed you, Leliana, but you are obviously well.  Alistair sends his regards, and Zevran mentioned he worked with you.  I also understand Morrigan was here recently?”  

The mask fell into place, not the way an Orlesian would wear it, but the fixed expression she knew he used when hiding something critical.  It was the pleasant face with bright eyes and an easy smirk which made people wonder what he was going to do next.  Morrigan’s son was exactly the age he would have been had Kieran been conceived during the Blight, and it was no secret Reginald had spent time with the apostate until they had a heated argument.  He considered her offer of “freedom” to mean they could both carry on with whoever they pleased, and she disagreed.  There weren’t any obvious traces of Reginald in Morrigan’s son, but the boy favored his mother.  “She was here, yes, but left just after the battle with Corypheus.  Is there some special reason you’re wondering?”  With a small smile of her own she added, “a young boy was with her.  She said he was her son and he was very well mannered.  He mostly stayed in the garden with her, and we barely knew he was here.”

“Was the boy... aside from being quiet, was there anything --” he paused, and for once didn’t try to mislead Leliana.  “I suppose what I mean to say – was there anything else particularly unusual about the lad?”

“No.” Her eyes searched his face without ever letting him know she was studying him.  He was giving her very little, but she didn’t pry very deeply.  Reginald was still a friend.  “There was nothing except he might be a mage like his mother.  There is something you are not telling me,” she chided lightly, but didn’t expect an honest answer.

“Indeed there is.”  He chuckled and tried to put his son out of his mind.  It was not the ties of fatherhood which bothered him most, although Reginald would have liked a half dozen had he eventually settled enough with a wife and raise them.  His worst fear was in laying with Morrigan to save himself, Alistair, or the entire thrice damned world with only a pair of Wardens, he had released something even worse than an archdemon.  The boy might appear well mannered, but what was he really?  Within him was the soul of an old god, if what Morrigan said was true.  He had no reason to doubt, considering both Wardens lived through the slaying of the Archdemon.  Alistair still did not know why, and Reginald had told no one, even after the inquiries by other Wardens right after the Blight.

With another grin for Leliana, he gave her a low bow from the waist.  “We must all have our secrets or you shall be out of a job.  You cannot ask that of me, can you? I should think not.  A spymaster without anyone to spy upon would be a sad thing indeed.”  She laughed softly, and he could see the humor creasing at the corners of her eyes.  “Good day, Lady Spymaster.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“That’s a mabari, I’m sure of it.” Cullen glanced around for an owner, but no one seemed attached to the hound which was freely nosing around the merchant stalls.    
  
“She -- no,” the Inquisitor corrected herself, “he looks friendly.  His coat is so shiny and he’s got a harness on.  He must belong to someone.  I’m sure I haven’t seen him around before.”  She crouched down at eye level and and patted her shin, beaming at the massive grey war hound.  “Hello boy.  Will you come see me?”  His ears perked up and he didn’t take any coaxing as he lumbered over to stuff his broad head into her waiting hands.  She giggled and rubbed his face.  “You’re a friendly one.  Who’s a sweet and adorable murderous war dog?” she cooed ridiculously, ignoring Cullen’s incredulity behind her.  “What a handsome boy you are, too.  Yes you are!”  She smoothed sleek fur as the dog panted happily in her face.  “I bet you’re smart and the best war dog ever, aren’t you?  Oof that breath is awful, though.”  He rolled over on his back, waving platter paws and slobbering happily.  “Do you think we could get a dog, Cullen?  Not a mabari, but some kind of dog.  I love Coffee, but having a horse just isn’t the same.  Is it?” she asked the hound.  “It’s not.  Not at all.”  
  
Cullen knelt down beside her and scratched the dog’s chest, making it wave its hind leg in a delighted circle.  “Mabari have to imprint on someone, but considering who you are, I’m sure any breeder in Ferelden would be glad to let you try with their pups.”  
  
“They’re so huge.  I can’t imagine what they eat or how to train them.  How would I even take care of one?”  Another giggle bubbled from her throat as the dog planted his pads against her nose.  “Hey!”  She pushed the huge paw away.  “Watch those big feet.”  
  
Cullen couldn’t resist a warm smile as he watched her glow with enthusiasm over something as simple as owning a dog.  It wasn’t a secret how much she loved animals, and drove Master Dennet mad bringing in all kinds of exotic mounts.  The poor horsemaster had to make provisions for sides of raw meat to feed the dracolisk, and Cullen doubted that had ever been on the man’s itinerary before.  “A mabari would take care of you as much as you’d take care of it.  They’re famous in Ferelden and fought with the king’s army during the Blight.”  He could understand how when looking at the heavy jaws and power in the neck, shoulders, and chest of the animal.  He was solid, and in a charge could have plowed a man over who wasn’t ready for him.    
  
 “Well,” she chewed on her lower lip, scratching under the dog’s chin.  “If you don’t mind?”  
  
 He liked the idea of having something else to help protect her; not that she needed it.  She was the most formidable person he knew, but that couldn’t keep him from worrying about her.  “For you,” he told her quietly, cupping his hand against her cheek, “anything.”  
  
Melting into his attention, she beamed.  “Maybe I’ll try to find one and get help training it, then. I guess someone around here would know.”  As content as the puffing pooch next to them, she leaned over to kiss Cullen on the jaw.  “Thank you.”  
  
Tucking his chin, a hint of pink burned on his cheeks and she leaned companionably against him as they continued to pet the mabari.  Their new friend looked like he had just found the Golden City with the happy squint, huge smile, and lolling tongue rolling from his mouth.  The Inquisitor could relate to the feeling when she was around her “Lionmuffin” as she mentally dubbed him.  
  
“Cupcake?”  Reginald had showed himself downstairs, and gone in search of his wayward dog.  Like master like pet, evidently.  The great war dog and terror of Ferelden was off making new friends with lovely women.  
  
The mabari immediately rolled over, ears pricked alertly and looking at his master.  Popping up to his paws, he trundled over to Reginald and barked, then dashed back to the Inquisitor.  “Woof!”  
  
 “Ah, I see you have fetched me some people.  Yes, there is a good dog.”  He scratched behind a notched ear and the stub tail vibrated the entire back end of the dog.  “In fact, are you the Inquisitor herself by chance, and Ser Cullen?  Cupcake always had excellent taste in his fetching.”  They didn’t discuss the pantaloons or the Found Cake of his predecessor.    
  
Cullen had become much more formidable looking since Reginald last saw him.  The templar snapped to his feet, and the Herald got up a little more slowly, dusting the knees of her armored robe off as she did.  A bulky, fur trimmed cloak fairly bristled.  “Who are you?” he demanded without preamble, “how did y– Wait.”  Cullen stared hard at the good humored, plainly armored  rogue who was several inches shorter than he was.  His mouth went slack and hand stopped inadvertently straying toward the pommel of his sword.  “You’re... it is you!”  It had been a very long time and there had been a shimmering barrier of blood magic between them, but Cullen would never forget the faces of the people who had rescued him from Uldred.  “It really is you.”  
  
“It really is who?” the blond woman next to him wanted to know.  She looked pleasant enough, unruffled and curious.  People came through Skyhold all the time, so if new faces were going to alarm her she would have already been flattened out with a heart attack last winter.  “Is he a friend of yours, Cullen?”  Cupcake nudged her fingertips so she scratched his head until his eyes slitted in delight again.  
  
“Not exactly, no.  Inquisitor,” Cullen slipped into formality, and straightened into military stance. “This is Reginald Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden.”  
  
“And Arl of Amaranthine, Commander of the Grey, Warden Commander, Ruler of All that I See, and a great many other titles I would rather not repeat.”  That got a giggle from the woman, and he decided they would get along well enough.  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and to see you are doing well, Ser Cullen.”  He inclined his head to the man beneath the sprouting fur coat.  He looked considerably less like Swiftrunner after a windy day when last they met.    
  
 “I’ll always be in your debt for what you did, and I never properly thanked you.”  Things had happened too quickly once the Warden’s group had left the Circle Tower.  Greagior forbid him to fight, and shipped him off to the Chantry of the Green to meditate and recover once the Blight was ended.  From there it was Kirkwall, and he hadn’t found time to write his family.  There certainly hadn’t been opportunity to reach out to the Warden, even if he would have known where to find him.  Cullen extended a hand, and Reginald shook it heartily.  
  
“Not at all, Ser.  From what I have heard, you have paid any debt in full -- thanks to your lovely companion.”  They both eyed him for his choice of words, and he might have laughed had he known them better.  If they were not yet married, they needed to be.  “You two are quite fortunate in many ways.”  Their guard turned to mild confusion, so he dropped his voice conspiratorially.  “A mage and a former templar falling in love?  It is the talk of five cities.”  
  
Cullen flushed uncomfortably, and rubbed the back of his neck.  The Inquisitor took it with better grace and shrugged with an embarrassed laugh.  “We raise an army and almost get killed stitching together the sky and what are people obsessing about?  That?  Please tell me it wasn’t a Thetris story.”  
  
“No.”  Reginald chuckled, “nothing of the sort.  It is just tales.  People have grown weary of the great hero who slew an Archdemon.  It is you who are new and intriguing, but enjoy the good gossip while it is here.  Better that than to have them taking up arms and angry with the Inquisition.”  
  
“True.  Cassandra was looking for you, though, you know.”  She paused, scuffing a toe of her boot against a grass clump.  “They wanted you or the Champion of Kirkwall for the Inquisition.”    
  
 Reluctance?  That was curious.  He would have thought her to be both bold and confident, but she seemed almost unsure.  “So I am told.  It is a good thing she could not find me then, is it not?”  He took no offense at gradually being replaced in the hearts of the people.  It had been a very hard lesson for the young, spoiled nobleman to learn that he was a servant of the people rather than the reverse.  “You were the one who was needed, and so you were in the right time at the right place.  I thank the Maker for it, because my methods of dealing with the catastrophe might not have been nearly as efficient as yours. Even so, I fear it was the Wardens who should have sorted the problem an age before any of us were born.  I believe your main problem was a Darkspawn?”  
  
“In a bad girdle Void bent on ruling the world, even if he destroyed it in the process.  Supposedly he was one of the original magisters who violated the Golden City.  I didn’t believe it, but he definitely did.  I hope there’s no more like him.  I don’t suppose you’d know if there was?  He was kept in some sort of Grey Warden prison according to Hawke and Stroud.”  
  
A magister? There was an interesting fly in the ointment he hadn’t known before.  Reginald rather liked her sarcastic, witty approach.  “My Grey Warden mentor and my original Ferelden Wardens were almost all killed the same night I joined.  The last two Wardens in Ferelden had been at it less than six months, so our battle was a rather interesting one with noone to enlighten us about our own Order.  Since that time, I have spoken with others, but the record keeping is abominable.  Any other scraps you have on this prison would be helpful, and I shall gladly give you anything I find.”  
  
“You’d do that?” she asked skeptically.  Eying him, she nudged, “I got the impression Wardens were more secretive.”  
  
 “My dear lady,” Reginald’s face went grave as a turnip, “do I look like the sort who keeps secrets?  Well, perhaps a few which a gentleman should never reveal, but I prefer to look at it as the Inquisition being an ally of the Wardens.  One shares information with an ally, yes?  I heard what you did for the Orlesian Wardens.  You did not have to spare any of them, and many people would not have.  I believe you have proven your intentions and cleaned up an ancient mess my predecessors should have taken care many ages ago.  We should put an honorary griffon crest about your neck and call you an adopted sister.”  
  
 “A griffon?” she perked up.  
  
“I believe I knew a mage who would have been extremely fond of you, but you see my point.  For the sake of Thedas’ safety I see no reason to hamper a free exchange of information.”  That gave him a notion about the war criminal he came to collect, but he would need to speak to him first.  “Agreed?”  He offered his hand.  
  
She beamed a smile which made Reginald partially understand why Cullen was so enamored with her.  It would be difficult not to want to see that smile bestowed on you, and they shook.  She hoped he was being as honest with her as he appeared to be, but time would tell.  For the moment she couldn’t see any disadvantages, but she’d ask Josephine to speak to him about the particulars.  She was better at diplomacy and finding loopholes.    
  
 “Not to hurry things along, but it is Warden business which brings me here.”  
  
 Her face fell, and Cullen put a comforting hand on her arm.  “You’re here for Blackwall, aren’t you?” she asked quietly.  
  
 “I fear so, yes.  Perhaps we might discuss his situation?”  He wasn’t opposed to having Cullen present if she was not, because he was always someone who danced with the truth which was a lie which was a truth hidden inside of a lie when it suited him.  Warden secrets were not going to come popping merrily up in the conversation.  
  
The Commander, however, prudently excused himself after rubbing her shoulder subtly with his thumb.  “I’ll be in my office if you need me.  I have a thousand things to do.”  
  
 “Dinner tonight?” she asked as she nudged him playfully in the side.  
  
“Always.”  He cleared his throat and nodded toward Reginald.  “Warden Commander Cousland.  If you require anything of me, you need only ask.”  He chose the more formal title out of the numerous ones Reginald had rattled off, and dismissed himself.    
  
The Inquisitor released a heavy sigh.  “I knew this was going to happen sooner or later.  Blackwall will either be in the stables or out in front of of them, chopping wood.  That’s usually where he stays.”  It never occurred to her to try and get him to move, because he’d made a comfortable place for himself among pelts and the hay.  She found it homey among the horses, and never thought about the fact her best friend was actually sleeping in a barn until that minute.  It chagrined her that she’d never at least offered to let him move into the castle, but surely he’d known?  
  
“Actually, I had hoped to ask you a few things, first.”  His fingers itched as badly as Sigrun’s when they began to walk and meandered past a shop.  She would have loved some of the baubles, but if he took anything back for his fellow pickpocket, he would purchase it legally.  Perhaps he would steal it then tuck the payment into a pocket, but he would pay for it.  One had to keep ones skills practiced.  Business first.  “Leliana and I are old acquaintances and she mentioned Blackwall has been a great help and friend to you?”  
  
She paused in the relative privacy of a shady niche against the wall and absently plucked at dead leaf dangling from the ivy.  “My best friend.  The Wardens will be getting the finest warrior and  man I’ve met in a long time.  He’s taken a lot of blows that should have been mine.  I got stung by a scorpion once and it would have killed me if he wouldn’t have known what to do.” Moving one shoulder, she tipped her staff into better view.  “You’ve fought with mages as support before, haven’t you?”  
  
Reginald knew exactly what she meant.  Alistair, Oghren, Sten and Shale had been the ones who took the main brunt, and everyone in armor did everything they could to keep enemy weapons away from the mages.  They were intensely formidable, but if their magic failed and something like a werewolf were to slip through the warriors, the mage would likely be dead.  “Indeed I do.  So I take it he is well trained in that sort of combat situation?”  
  
 “And against mages because of the rebellion.  Cullen ... well you know he used to be a templar.  They’re well versed in Abominations and malificar.  Blackwall and all of the others benefited from what he learned.”  
  
 “True templar training with Smite, Cleansing and the like?”  She looked at him oddly and he didn’t have to feign the dark look which shadowed his features.  “We had a few templars among the Wardens for a time.”  There was also Alistair, so he was well aware lyrium wasn’t as necessary as the Chantry made it seem.  
  
 “No, nothing that serious.  It’s simple things like how they hold their shields to keep fire or acid from splashing up in their faces.”  
  
 Reginald contemplated that then asked her the most obvious question.  “If you could keep him here, with you, would you?”  
  
 She eyed him cautiously again.  “He’s a convicted war criminal.  I don’t have the luxury.  It’s why I asked if the Wardens might take him.  I know he’s done wrong, but he’s a good man.  He was there to kill Corypheus with me, and he’s as brave and decent a person as you’ll ever likely to find.  People change.”  
  
 Which told him everything he really needed to know.  Would he have not been as quick to leap to Alistair’s defense?  “I believe you.  Do not fear, I have no doubt the Wardens have use for such a person.”  
  
 “Oh.  Well,” she eyed him speculatively. “Good then.”  She supposed it meant her friend was going away, and at best she’d get the occasional letter.  It wouldn’t be the same, and she felt horribly guilty about it.  Couldn’t she have done something different for him?  Leliana had a different idea about trading a criminal’s body with his so everyone thought he was dead.  She’d briefly thought about it, but didn’t see Blackwall appreciating that decision.  Even so, there might have been something she could have done differently.  “I’m going to miss him,” she muttered.  Not one to stand on ceremony, it wasn’t strange for her to confess something so personal to a total stranger.  She’d never been good about hiding her feelings.  
  
 “Undoubtedly,” Reginald agreed affably.  “Perhaps something might be worked out.  We shall see.”  
  
 A questioning, hopeful look helped build the foundation of his future decision.  “May I have a private word with him for a few moments?  I like to get the measure of my recruits when I meet them.”  
  
“Alright.  I’ll be around if you need me.”  On pleasant days, she had a habit of sitting outside and enjoying the sunshine.  She had the feeling she’d need the extra emotional boost by the time the recruitment was over.  Who was going to listen to her rant and ramble?  Blackwall was always patient with her and let her wind herself down while he worked on his rocking griffon or some other project.  She’d come to associate the smell of hay, freshly cut wood, and fire smoke with him.  _I’m going to miss him so much._   He was as vital, if different, part of her life as Cullen.


	3. Chapter 3

Reginald’s idea of a ‘private word’ followed more along the lines of shedding his cloak by hanging it on a convenient tree limb then casually working his way around the back of the stables.  As he expected, there was a door in the rear, and a clear line of sight through the building.  A few stable hands looked at him inquiringly, but Reginald walked about as if he owned every speck of dust under his boots.  If he didn’t belong in a place, he made certain he looked like he did.  That made all the difference and no one asked questions as he took stock of a man out front who was decimating firewood with an ax.  
  
The day was warm enough that Blackwall had shed his shirt, and Reginald observed him critically.  Solid muscle was packed beneath a few scars, telling the tale of a warrior who had trained a good while and taken his knocks.  Some of the injuries were old, faded almost completely, and others recent.  He recognized very familiar patterns left behind from dragon attack and someone who didn’t benefit from a spirit healer.  Evidently the Inquisitor didn’t have the same talents as Wynne, but Blackwall had managed to evade any crippling injuries.  
  
His motions were practiced, powerful and smooth.  It left the Warden Commander with little doubt of ability and skill.  The admiration from his superior was as transparent as a bowl of water, so his loyalty to her was without question.  Had her exploits not spoken for themselves that might have carried less weight, but those who put blood and body between destruction and other people deserved special consideration.  Reginald had won that right, himself, and considered himself an expert.  Everything spoke well enough of Blackwall but there remained one serious obstacle.    
  
Reginald’s light tread was soundless as he went back outside, trying to ignore the stench of horses and some other very curious steeds which were stabled there.  One looked dragonic and like it might eat errant Warden Heros.  Best to give that one a wide berth.    
  
“Something you want?”  Blackwall grabbed another log and set it in place.  With one strike he split it, and tossed the pieces into a sizable pile.  
  
In no hurry, he allowed the other man to take the measure of him, knowing most people were deceived by the charming good looks and casual manner.  His armor was highest quality and his tweak the nose of the Archdemon attitude seldom screamed “dour war hero.”  That was best left to Nathaniel, whose very grumpiness could curdle cream first thing in the morning.  Without the Commander’s usual griffons rampant head to ankle, there was little enough past cocky confidence to suggest Reginald was the man halted a Blight.  “Something I am owed.”  
  
Blackwall didn’t like cryptic, and halted with a double handed grip on the ax.  “If you have something to say, then say it.  Stop dancing.”  
  
“I make it a point never to dance with strange men toting axes.”  Obviously he was dealing with someone who had a sense of humor equivalent to Nathaniel.  Wonderful.  Reginald really did not enjoy the prospect of two of them brooding in opposite corners.  One was more than enough.    
  
Ignoring him, Blackwall split another log, but he was watching Reginald out of the corner of his eye.  Good man, staying aware of his surroundings.  “Thom Rainier I believe?”  That made him miss, shaving the bark off one side of the log.  “I am Warden Commander Cousland of Ferelden.  Your lady Inquisitor sent word that you were to be given to us, for want of a better word.  You are to join the Wardens and exonerate your crimes against Orlais.”  
  
“You’re the Hero of the last Blight?”  The head of his ax thumped down beside his boot and he looked Reginald up and down with more skepticism.  
  
“If you tell me I should be taller I shall thrash you.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”  His dry tone suggested he was thinking it, and Blackwall grabbed his shirt.  Shrugging it on, he took one last glance around the barn.  It had been home for a long time, but he assumed he’d be going to Ferelden.  It was a place he’d always liked, and at least it wasn’t Orlais.    
  
“A few questions if you would indulge me?  I spoke with the Inquisitor and Spymaster.  They both praised your ability.  The Inquisitor in particular had nothing but high regard, telling of how you were with her when Corypheus was slain.”  
  
“That’s right.”  Blackwall put the ax away and tucked in the tail of his shirt.  “Whatever else happens to me, I can at least say I was there.  I helped her.”  
  
“Just so.  It speaks of your character and training.”  For a man who came from Orlais he certainly did not mince words.  That was interesting.  “I have not a doubt on either of those things.  Tell me, what do you know of the process for Warden recruits?  Were you told much?”  
  
“You mean the Joining?  Some.  I was sent out to get Darkspawn blood but the creatures ambushed the man who recruited me.  He was dead by the time I came back.”  He didn’t tell the rest of the story and Cousland would either know it or he wouldn’t.  Blackwall suspected he already did if his reputation was true.  
  
“Yes.  My mentor tossed me out into the Korcari Wilds, much to my distaste, to do the same.”  At the inquiring look he received, he explained, “I did not want to join the Grey Wardens in the least.  I am a noble born son of a Teyrn, but my family was betrayed during the campaign which was part of Ferelden’s near destruction.  Not only was the Blight spoiling the land, but there was civil war.  The Couslands were one of the first casualties, but Duncan happened to be at the castle for one of our knights.  Going with him was the only way I could live.  Had it not been the dying wish of my parents, I would not have.  Once I was away from imminent death I only wished to find my brother, if he still lived.  I cared absolutely nothing about being a Grey Warden.  Obviously that was not to be, and thus I was kicked into the Wilds for blood collection.”  He told the story as if he were a cock ruffling his feathers and strutting in front of the hens, but every word was intentional.  Blackwall’s reactions were not those of someone who played the Grand Game.  The slight twitch of disgust in mentioning he was nobility, narrowed eyes when he explained that he did not originally want to be a Warden, and stiffened shoulders told Reginald a lot about his prospective recruit.  
  
Since meeting the real Blackwall, Thom Rainier had nothing but admiration for the Grey Wardens.  He even believed the best intentions of Clarel and was honored the Order gave people a second chance.  This wasn’t what he expected from a man who slew an archdemon almost single handedly.  “Do you always talk so much?”  
  
“Oh yes.  I talked the Archdemon to death.  It threw its claws over its ears and expired rather than listen to me.  Had you not heard?  At any rate,” he changed the subject faster than wind currents, “how old are you?”  
  
“What?”  Blackwall was quick enough to follow him and folded his arms across his chest.  “Just a minute.  If you think I’m too old to use a sword–” He spat furiously.  
  
“How old are you?”  Reginald repeated, expression flattening and serious.  
  
Blackwall self consciously rolled one shoulder.  “Forty one.”  He couldn’t leap out of an ice coated bedroll as fast as he did twenty years ago, but he was still in peak shape.  Experience cancelled anything which he might have lost in slightly faster reflexes or flexibility.  His joints hadn’t started getting stiff, in spite all of the battles he’d been through, and he was even better with a sword than he had been at thirty.  
  
“And do you know what the Joining does?”  Before he could answer, Reginald continued without taking a breath, employing one of his most irritating skills of speaking without seeming to ever need air.  “The blood you were meant to collect goes into a concoction with Archdemon blood.  Mages do a ritual so it is not so raw as drinking it straight from the source.  From what I have been able to gather in legend and text, the very first of the Order managed to forge some sort of immunity against becoming a ghoul.  Since that time, the process has become slightly more refined, but there are very, very serious prices we pay for it.  In short,” as if anything he ever did could be called that, “I was twenty when I went through my Joining.  Ser Gilmore was, I believe, only twenty three.  Alistair was nineteen.  The younger the recruit, the more likely they are to survive because the Joining tears through us.  I watched someone die at my Joining and we have lost at least one each time since then, often more than that.”  Loghain would have been an exception to the age rule, but it was a moot point.  It was rather hard to take a Joining while lacking a head.  
  
Blackwall glared down at him, and didn’t like where the conversation was going.  “Just what are you trying to say to me, that I’m too old?  You won’t take me?”  
  
“Too old to be a Grey Warden?”  Reginald had faced the multiple breasts of the Mother and not blinked.  Blackwall’s irritation was was hardly intimidating after that.  “No.  No, you are not.  In fact, you are the perfect age for it.  You are hearty, experienced, and lack the bravado or hot head of youth.  Too old for a Warden?  Not at all.  Too old to put your body through a Joining?  Yes.”  
  
“There’s no difference,” he accused angrily.  What would he do if the Wardens wouldn’t have him?  He’d been rescued by the Inquisition at a high cost, and he’d be letting a woman who he thought more highly of than anyone he’d ever met if he couldn’t finish his atonement.    
  
“You were a Warden-Constable except you were not, and I am a Commander.  I outrank you either way, so who knows more about this?  I do.  Now listen.  There is a difference.  My Seneschal knew all the secrets of the Order, to the point of being able to put others through a Joining.  He, himself, never went through it because those were not his orders.  I deplore wasting resources, and you are obviously a very good one.  You have done great things for the Inquisition and would do equally good things for the Grey Wardens.  None of that could happen if you are dead, and it would be a ridiculous waste.  If this was a decade ago and it was only Alistair and I against the entire wretched Blight, I would pour that foul concoction down your gullet in an instant.  This, however, is a time of peace and I rather think you, as a Grey Warden, have better uses.”  
  
Blackwall listened suspiciously, pulling the ridiculously long explanation apart.  Even the Inquisitor never talked so much on her worst day, and she wasn’t half as circular.  He didn’t like it, and it reminded him too much of people in his past.  “I thought that’s part of what it meant to be a Warden.  It’s how you fight the Darkspawn.”  
  
“In part yes.  It is also what alters appetite, can promote faster healing, and a few other things.”  He waved it aside, and had likely just maimed any number of Warden codes saying as much as he had.  “Maker’s drawers, man, do you think I can run the entire organization by myself?  If we were still small in numbers as it was with Duncan, then of course I would.  There were only Grey Wardens and not many of them, then.  Your Inquisitor lead a small inner group of you, did she not?  Yet, she did not do everything.  The Wardens of Ferelden are not as enormous as the Inquisition, but we were granted an arling.  That tampers with the political neutrality, but we were decimated.  I was literally the last living Warden.  I accepted the gift as a base of operations so we would not go the way of the griffons into extinction.”  There were also personal reasons for it, and a certain symmetry which appealed to him by taking Howe’s lands.  “That was the original intent, but the vassals essentially gave me a title and the responsibility with it.  It has been a sizable mess for years.”  
  
Eventually, he would arrange things, but that was something for another day.  “Our soldiers are known as the Silver Order and none are Wardens.  They are attached to Amaranthine herself until I can sort it all out and get someone outside our Order to run the lands themselves.  I have a Seneschal, scribes, a few Tranquil who help with rune or enchantments, and a castle full of people.”  
  
He did not technically call any of them Wardens, but he also was never meant to be an Arl.  Had Loghain been recruited he would have lost all title and standing of Teyrn.  It was not done.  Neither was putting a Grey Warden on the throne.  Alistair renounced his former position with Order but his blood had the Taint running through it.  When it came down to it, one simply could not stop being a Grey Warden except by death.  Ah well, when did I begin actually doing what he was supposed to?  _People who wish mundane rule followers should not leave me in charge of anything more impressive than a bread box._   “You shall be a Grey Warden.  You shall wear the armor, you shall represent us, you shall behave as appropriate to the Order,” Maker forbid if Reginald was any indication of what that was.  “If you do not, you will pay the consequences as any other Warden.  I do not suffer insubordination or fools gladly, but I doubt you will give anyone much trouble.  I believe you were recruiting when the Inquisition found you?  Maker be merciful we will not see another Blight in our lifetime and the other Archdemons will stay asleep where they are.  People have little interest in joining us now, because the Blight is over.  There are more pressing revolutions and rebellions going on around us.  No doubt they are more inclined to be part of this new Inquisition, because it stirs the blood to benefit all Thedas.  Yet, there will always a time when the Wardens are needed again.  It may be centuries from now, but as much as no one wants it, that time will come.  When it does, we cannot have two people running about trying to stop the Blight the way it was in Ferelden.  Orlais has lost most of her Wardens, too.  Maker help us all if the darkspawn organized, and I will tell you a small secret.  Archdemons are not the only forces with the power to control and organize large groups of them.  I will brief you on all of it because yes, you will be a Grey Warden.  You will get a stipend and all of that, so that you are officially part of the chapter.”  
  
“I’m listening,” Blackwall allowed, mostly to prove he could keep up with the man’s chatter.  Andraste’s tits, the man never slowed down.  
  
“Good.  I would like you to be our liaison with the Inquisition.  You are to keep to the code of the Wardens first, protecting the people from darkspawn.  You will also seek out recruits from the ranks of the Inquisition.  I would like you to do so with your lady Inquisitor’s permission, but watch for prospective people.  We need to keep the Warden ranks alive for the inevitable time they are needed.  When you are not engaged in something directly involving the Wardens, you are to aid that lovely blond with the odd mark on her hand continue to keep the world safe.  I rather think she can use as much help as she can get.”  
  
The news that something other than an Archdemon could put a horde on the move left a chill on the back of Blackwall’s neck, but he wanted to make one thing perfectly clear.  “You’re going to make me a Grey Warden, and leave me here to recruit.  I’m no spy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”  
  
“Not at all.  I want this to be a very open joint endeavor.  Your Inquisitor has already shown compassion and generosity toward the Order by sparing those Orlesian Wardens who were not enthralled with Blood Magic.  She and I are in agreement we want an alliance which is not political in nature, but an open understanding of similar goals.  You are needed here,” he said simply, “by both of us.  If you are truly willing to become a Grey Warden, then you are to obey my orders.  That is what I am doing.  I am ordering you into the position of Grey Warden liaison to the Inquisition.”  
  
Blackwall wasn’t sure what to make out of what he’d just been told, and if he should be insulted or relieved.  He never had the chance to decide because a blond bundle of Inquisitorial enthusiasm came running up to him.  Throwing her arms around his neck, she hugged him with warm delight, and practically bubbled over.  “You’re going to stay with us!”    
  
“You’re choking me,” he gasped and tried to loosen the Herald’s hold so he could breathe.  
  
“Sorry.”  Sheepish, she put her arms around his middle and hugged him again.  “You’re going to be a Warden but you don’t have to go away!  I’m so glad, that’s all.”  
  
How was he supposed to argue with that?  Awkwardly, he patted her on the back until she unlatched from him.    
  
“First we have to get him properly outfitted.  If you, Lady Inquisitor, have business toward the Ferelden coast we would certainly welcome you at Amaranthine.  Master Wade must bedeck this fine new Warden in armor befitting his new position.”  
  
Blackwall wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that.  
  
“Wade is very fond of griffons and thanks the Inquisition for the dragon donations.  He has seldom been so delighted.  Come now, what shall it be?  Will the Inquisitor grace our humble fortress with a visit, or do I drag our newest recruit alone?”  
  
“I’ll ask Josaphine if she can clear my schedule for awhile and go.  I’d like to meet the other Grey Wardens.  Do you want to stay with us for awhile until I’m ready to travel?”  Cullen might like to go, too, and visit his family.  She wasn’t sure exactly where they were, but if they were going to take a tour around Ferelden without having to close rifts or quell a rebellion, it seemed like a perfect opportunity.  “I can set you up in our guest quarters.”  
  
“Excellent idea,” Reginald beamed.  “Thank you.  Get your things together Warden … ah… what do I call you?”  
  
He paused for a moment, looking at the Inquisitor before telling Reginald.  “Rainier.  Warden Rainier.”  



End file.
